We’ve all heard the statistics. Blah, blah, blah…No team has won a Round Of 16 tie after losing the 1st leg since 1887. No team has ever come back from a 3-1 scoreline at home since 311 BC. We get it. We’re right royally fucked.

We have no chance. At best we’ll show up and do a Bayern 2013. Score a couple of Pyrrhic goals in a Pyrrhic Victory. Of course, score just one more…and we win the tie. Doh! Didn’t mean to say that. Damn! Damn! Damn it!

Look, the important thing to recognize is that we have no chance of coming back. No one has ever done it ever. And we’re not the kind of team who could put 3 or 4 goals past a team if we have a good night. So we can forget that right away.

Also, we’ve made life very easy for Monaco. They just need to sit back and defend just like they did at the Emirates and get in at half time without conceding. That will keep their nerves calm. And it’s not like we created many chances when they were parking their bus at the Emirates. So they should be fine. Also, Monaco scored from pretty much all of their chances at the Emirates, so all they need to do is keep that up and they should be golden.

The other factor of course is that we’re notoriously slow starters in recent matches, so it’s not like we could get a goal in the first 30 minutes anyway, no matter how aggressively we attack.

Oh, Ox. If only. If only you hadn’t gone all gung ho after you got us back to 2-1. At that moment, even though we were still behind, we could all see how we could go to Monaco and turn things around. There was not only hope, there was a genuine optimism coming back into the supporters.

But 3-1. That’s 1 more goal than 2-1. So, forget it. It won’t happen. It can’t. That’s an extra goal. And it takes about a minute to score a goal. So we simply won’t have the time if we’re playing great and they shit their pants after we score a couple in the 1st half. Which. We. Won’t.

We are right royally fucked indeed.

But oooh, imagine. Just for a second. That would be a night alright. It would be a night to go down in the record books. A night to keep tucked away with the Away demolition of Inter, 5-1, in the 2003 Champions League. That would be one to shove up all our rivals’ arses. Pointy end first. Man, how they danced on Wednesday at the sight of our misery, the bitter shits.

In 3 weeks time, the wounds will be healing. Ozil, Sanchez & Co will have vengeance on their minds and a point to prove. I don’t know about you, but I think it could be interesting yet. It’s a long shot but..the darker the night, the brighter the stars shine.

Anyway, forget all that. We can’t win. It’s ridiculous. And anyone who thinks we can needs to zip it. Because if any one of their 9,000 fans or should I say those yacht-owning, Cristal-swigging, mankini-wearing, caviar-munchers finds out and gets word to Javier Bardem and his boys to disrupt the deep-seated belief that AS Monaco are already in the Quarter Finals of the Champions League, I will be very, very angry.

So…Shhhh! We ‘ave ‘em right where we want ‘em and they don’t even know it. The smug bastards.

I’ve done a scouting report on Manchester City in preparation for the match this weekend at the Etihad.

I’ve looked at form, roster and key players and have some thoughts on how we should best set up against them.

Form: So, basically, City are fucking good. From what I can see, they win the league almost every year these days, including last year, and when they don’t, they come second.

Roster: They spend a boat load of money on “worldie” players and they have two of them for each position. So, that’s not good.

Key Players: Also, for key players they have that absolute bruiser, Yaya Toure. He’s fucking huuuuge. AND fast. Our best chance with this fella is if they’ve forgotten to get him a Christmas presie and he’s throwing a strop. (Good news. One of my sources tells me he’s gone off to Africa on a major strop.)

And they’ve got that David Silva who’s really good and clever but he looks slightly odd. Like a young Paul Daniels. But, not sure how we use that to our advantage yet.

They have that cun’, Aguero. (Even they call him that. So he must be a right little bollix.) Hopefully he’s injured. He usually is. Which would be great cos he’s brilliant. Unfortunately, they’ve got about 3 or 4 other brilliant strikers including that Wilfried Bony (he isn’t Bony at all. He’s a lard ass.) They just sploodged 30m on that fat fucker. But he can move. Ever seen those fat bastards who can really move? I don’t know how they do it. But there’s a few of ‘em out there, aren’t there? Imagine how fast he’d be if he wasn’t such a fat bastard.

Tactics: Tactically, City are really good and beat almost every team they face. But they’re not a bunch of bus-parkers, like that Mourinho wanker. God, I fucking hate that cun’.

So it should be a good open game which will suit us. We need to score first or we’re probably fucked. So, if I’m the gaffer, that’s my team talk: “Relax, lads. Enjoy yourselves. You haven’t beaten a Top 3 team for 9 years but relax. And make sure you get the first goal or we’re fucked as usual.”

So, I’d send out a really attacking team for the first 15 minutes to make sure we get the first goal: Giroud, Alexis, Ox, Santi, Rosicky, Ozil, Welbeck, Walcott (and some defenders and a keeper.) Those last few may not be fit but I’d give them a kick up the arse and send them out any way. George Graham would have. And they’re more use than Flamini and Per.

Then after we go a goal up in the first 15 minutes, I’d get the ones who are playing crap, off, and get some more defenders on. Will Wenger do this? Course not. Never subs till 70 minutes, if at all.

Anyway, that’s my report. With a bit of luck it’ll get on the dot com instead of that suck up, Michael Cox. And maybe Bouldie will have a read and bring it into the team meeting. Fingers crossed. Up The Arsenal!

]]>http://poznaninmypants.com/2015/01/15/manchester-city-scouting-report/feed/6poznaninmypantsThe Fastest Wing In World Footballhttp://poznaninmypants.com/2015/01/06/the-fastest-wing-in-world-football/
http://poznaninmypants.com/2015/01/06/the-fastest-wing-in-world-football/#commentsTue, 06 Jan 2015 05:44:15 +0000http://poznaninmypants.com/?p=3785Continue reading →]]>On Sunday evening, Theo Walcott and Hector Bellerin started on the right wing for Arsenal against Hull City in the third round of the FA Cup. That may well be the Fastest Wing in World Football.

Take Theo and Bellerin, sprinkle on some of Welbeck’s blistering pace, Oxlade-Chamberlain’s bursts, Sanchez’ quickness on the ball, Santi’s dancing feet and dazzling distribution, Gibbs sprinting from left back, Coquelin at DM and Koscielny at centerback and before you know it, you’ve got some pretty serious speed all over the park. I look forward to seeing variations on that theme over the next couple of seasons.

Seeing Theo start for Arsenal was something the faithful have anticipated for almost exactly 12 months. It’s incredible, really: one year lost out of Theo’s peak 4 or 5 years – gone at the snap of a ligament. It is possible that, of his remaining two and a half years at the club, he just spent 12 months of them in convalescence. Truly, at The Arsenal, those whom the Gods love die young.

Theo has gone from being a player no Gooner could agree on to being one of the few players every Gooner can agree on. Quite remarkable, really. I used to spend my time defending him after games, usually pointing out that even in Bales’ best season, Theo still had a better goals + assists contribution per minute. This had been true in every season since the two of them arrived in the PL. Now, there’s no one left to argue with, thank God. We are all converts. And absence has made the heart grow fonder.

There are few sights more thrilling than watching raw speed in action: a Formula 1 car overtaking down the straight; a horse gunning past the field in the closing furlong of the Derby; an Olympic sprinter after a slow start catching and passing the field. Or in football…Theo Walcott.

Theo has been a big loss for our team, and as if being confined to the training grounds hasn’t been torture enough for the man, he has had insult added to his injury with the breaking of his land-speed record by the young upstart, Hector Bellerin. Although this would seem a minor thing, it isn’t. Not for Theo or Hector. And apparently, not for the media, even though they had no clue who Hector Bellerin was before it. Media outlet after media outlet reminds Theo of it, then and now, to the point where he has picked up the gauntlet, wiped his arse with it, and sworn revenge.

Oh, the ignominy of it, the cowardice: Happening at a time when Theo was unable to respond, strapped down to a rehab table while the muscles of his sprinter’s thighs twitch in anger and fury.

He has promised to come back faster and stronger and, specifically, to consign Bellerin to the rank of second fastest player at the club.

And so, it should have come as no surprise when things began to unravel on the right wing against Hull, early in the 2nd half of the FA Cup tie: a seemingly innocuous pass by Coquelin which placed the ball 40 meters – almost exactly equidistant – ahead of both Theo and Bellerin had both players sprinting forward. But Theo got there first as it was just a tad closer to his path.

Then Theo jogged back to cover his defensive duties, with Bellerin making a point to jog back faster. Theo broke from a jog into a canter. Bellerin matched his canter and raised him a gallop. Theo was sure he saw a small grin growing in the corner of Bellerin’s mouth.

A minute later, another ball is pumped up the right wing for Theo and Bellerin to chase. Theo, again a tad closer, gets there first and attacks, only to find Bellerin arriving on his shoulder, throwing him a look reminiscent of “the look” Armstrong gave Jan Ulrich on the slopes of the L’Alpe-d’Huez, 2001, and then passing him. As they jogged back Theo offers “The ball slowed me down slightly. I’m not quite as fast when I have to control the ball.” Bellerin shrugs as if to say he has no idea what Theo is on about. But he most certainly does.

In the next play, both players track back after Hull’s Figueroa like two greyhounds running down a hare. In fact, scrap that analogy, Figueroa was like…like a fighter pilot staring at his HUD display having just spotted two Surface-To-Air missiles shooting right up his arse, a second before they blow it all over the skies.

Bould turns to Wenger and says, “I warned you this would happen, boss. You need to tell your boy to settle down and focus on his job.” Wenger shoots back at Bould: “I told YOU this would happen, and you need to tell your boy to hold back and defend.”

Behind them on the pitch, Theo and Bellerin have spun around and, correctly anticipating an upfield diagonal ball to their wing, are at full pelt, neck-and-neck, hell-for-leather up the touchline, sprinting towards the ball and at the last moment, ignoring it, hurdling it, as they put in a final burst all the way to the by-line, dipping as they break an imaginary tape, seemingly a photo-finish with no photo. Later petitions to review the goal-line technology video by both players to give a winner would prove futile.

I went to a football match the other night and a track & field meeting broke out.

]]>http://poznaninmypants.com/2015/01/06/the-fastest-wing-in-world-football/feed/5Bell TheopoznaninmypantsBell TheoIn the land of the blogger, the one-eyed, banjo-picking blog-reader is king.http://poznaninmypants.com/2014/12/15/in-the-land-of-the-blogger-the-one-eyed-banjo-picking-blog-reader-is-king/
http://poznaninmypants.com/2014/12/15/in-the-land-of-the-blogger-the-one-eyed-banjo-picking-blog-reader-is-king/#commentsTue, 16 Dec 2014 01:32:42 +0000http://poznaninmypants.com/?p=3774Continue reading →]]>In the land of the blogger, the one-eyed banjo-picking blog-reader is king.

It’s a funny old business, blogging. I spend at least half my time swearing I’m going to give it up or declaring the next will be my last. I suspect many bloggers suffer this same blogxistential angst. It’s just that there’s just so gosh darn many of them now. So. Many. Bloggers. Or more correctly, so many of “us.” It’s like Britain’s Got Talent: Which actually seems to have as a hidden mission to demonstrate just how quickly the talent-levels drop. Oh great, Season XXIV. And another 12 stars you’d never heard of yesterday are foisted upon us. Stack ‘em with the others. Another 3 seasons and they’ll have enough new stars to put one on every sofa in Britain, right next to you in your own living room.

To put in the effort to write your next blog, you have to think you’ve got something to say worth saying and something that other people haven’t said before. Otherwise, you know, what’s the point? But it gets harder and harder to convince yourself that there’s much of a gap left in the ground covered by every other bloody blogger. It leads to an ill-defined malaise, an ennui, a…non-specific blogrectile dysfunction. And unlike actual erectile dysfunction, taking your willy out and whacking it off the TV, table, chairs and all the furniture (and Mrs Figgis who happened to walk past your open front window at an inopportune moment) doesn’t eventually lead to the requisite surge in your blogging loins.

This tweet tells it all. 113 articles from Squawka on AFC & MUFC on a Tuesday when we don’t have a match for another 5 days: Commited. Eye-opening. Shite.

I am like Buridan’s Donkey. (No! Not for the reasons you think, though that would also bear comparison, I can tell you. No worries in that department!) No, Buridan’s Donkey, the donkey who starves to death because he sees two carrots equidistant from himself and can’t choose one over the other. I’ve always had contempt for that donkey slowly starving to death. What a wally. Or so I thought to myself. “Just pick one, you eejit! Either one. It really doesn’t matter! You’re starving. Eat a feckin’ carrot!”

That donkey deserves to die. Basic evolutionary theory. If not, we’re going to raise a race of super-moron donkeys. Eventually they won’t be able to choose between one carrot equidistant from itself.

This is why I actually think people should continue to read LeGrove’s blog. Yes, he’s a self-contradicting, pompous twat with a tiresome, grinding agenda, the Bill O’Reilly of this backwater, but if we wipe him out then someone who can actually make a cogent, non-contradictory, anti-Wenger case might rise up in his place.

So, let’s encourage the Moron-Magnet to keep at it, for the sake of us all, lest something more horrible crawls out of the sewer to take his place. And so I say to you, Sir: “Blog on, good Pedro. Blog on.” Fill the void. You do the club great service indeed.

And yet…here I am stuck in the equidistance between writing another blog and never ever writing another blog again. I am Donkified. The forces pulling on me in opposite directions are perfectly balanced. I try to feint, to sway to one side but find the forces and their point of application move perfectly in sync with me.

I am torn, rent in twain. Paralyzed and suspended in equal measure. Perfectly balanced…to the point that something miraculous happens…This precise equilibrium suddenly pops me into a parallel universe. Yes, incredible as it may seem, I am writing this from another dimension. I know! I was surprised too, I can tell you.

This new universe, I soon discover, is much like our own but…it is one of low technology, perhaps even of no technology. No internet, no smartphones, no ipads, no computers. But wait… that also means no blogging and no blogs!!! Woohoo! I am free, free at last. And so are you! And if someone even mentions a protocol for connecting the world in a web-like information network, I will hunt that bastard down like a dog and shoot him through the freakin’ head. I will shoot him with a rock, as we may not have invented guns here yet.

And the even better news…I’m an Arsenal supporter here too! And I’m on the way to a match at the Emirates. It’s going to be great. No blogs. We’ll just chat about the game before and after in the pubs, like it’s supposed to be. Proper supporters. Real supporters.

So there we all are walking along towards the stadium, havin’ a bit of craic, in great form. Along the road from the tube station we pass a park, a park filled with some Gooners.

And match after match, I notice this park on the way. And each time, I see more and more Gooners gathering there each match-day. I enquire as to what this place is.

“It’s Bloggers Corner.” It’s where the bloggers go to preach, to stand on boxes, and advocate their views and opinions, insights and observations.

So there are bloggers here too? Balls!! I was wrong after all. My heart sinks. Of course I was wrong: Just as cockroaches will not only survive a nuclear holocaust but thrive, so the blogger crawls out from under every rock in this universe.

And this Bloggers’ Corner kinda makes sense. There’s no internet and stuff so you write up your precious blog on a piece of paper and take it over to Bloggers’ Corner. And maybe even hand out a copy or two.

But even here a strange yet familiar phenomenon had been occuring. Over time the number of bloggers on pedestals seemed to swell as the number of listeners seemed to dwindle.

Sure enough, it was only a matter of time before someone implored me: “You should write a blog.” But I’d just arrived. I know nothing about the team, the league or football tactics. I know fuck all. “Don’t let that hold you back. None of them feckers did.”

But still my attention is drawn time and time again to a curious, mutant-looking, one-eyed banjo-picker sitting off in a far corner of the park. Finally, I ask a companion: “Who’s that grotesque creature over there, playing a banjo?”

“Shhh,” he replies in hushed tones. “He…he does not have a name.”

Despite his reticence, I pursued the matter: “Why do you hold a nameless, one-eyed gimp playing a banjo, and that eye being smack dab in the center of his face, in such reverence? Is he a blogger? That’s it, of course. He must be a blogger. Perhaps he is an idiot savant-blogger. A Rainman blogger?”

“It is rumoured that he is “HIM” – HE who occasionally reads someone’s blog.

I let out an audible gasp. “You say…” my voiced tremored at the words. “You say he reads…blogs?” I could scarcely believe the audacity of my own question.

“Yes. THAT is what they say. They say that he does not read quickly. They say that he does not read well. They say that he does not comprehend what he reads. But they do say that he does occasionally read a blog.”

I gasped again.

As the banjo gimp stood up and walked across the park, my friend fell prostrate on the ground, grabbing handfuls of dirt and rubbing them into his hair. I fell down beside him and commenced to do the same. From all around a murmur grew louder and louder, a chant by all bloggers who now also lay prostrate with us:

“In the land of the blogger, the one-eyed blog-reader is king.

In the land of the blogger, the one-eyed blog-reader is king.”

I thought to myself, “this would make an interesting blog,” an idea simultaneously arrived at by every other prostrate blogger for a mile around.

So he starts by saying Diaby is definitely getting a new contract, even if he can never walk again, never mind play. And that Diaby will receive the biggest contract at the club. Bigger than Ozil or Sanchez. I couldn’t fucking believe it when I heard this first hand, from a guy on twitter who was so angry about what he’s read in another guy’s 93 character tweet on Wenger’s interview.

Then, apparently, Wenger went on to say: “Regarding my comments on 4th place being a trophy…there has been a lot of misrepresentation of what I said. I never said 4th place was LIKE a trophy. I want to clear this up and make sure this is fairly reported in the media. I said 4th place IS a trophy. And while we’re on the subject, qualifying from the group stages of the UCL is like a trophy. In fact, I want to clear that up straight away. Qualifying from the group stage IS a trophy. They should give me a trophy for that. They owe me 18 trophies at UEFA. And I want them. And if it looks like we are going to do better than 4th place in the Premier League this year, I will slow the team down, because I don’t want to miss out on that 4th place trophy, which I like so much.

Defensive Midfielders? I don’t believe in Defensive Midfielders. In any case, I will be looking to do a cheeky loan deal for Kim Kallstrom again this winter, as he is having further back trouble we hear, so we should be able to get him super-cheap this time, which is a big thing for me, you should all know. Oh, and the club has no money. And Ivan Gazidis won’t give me any money because Stan Kroenke is manipulating our debt ratio to fund moving the St Louis Rams to LA or something. So, we have no money. I didn’t want a DM in any case as it would kill Arteta’s career.

Injuries? We don’t have an issue with injuries. We have an opportunity with injuries. Injuries are my way of rotating because otherwise I wouldn’t rotate players because the greatest managers don’t rotate.

Substitutions? Yeah, you guessed it. That’s just me fucking with y’all, irritating the shit out of the crowd if they’ve been on my back or moaning at the team. That’s payback.

Steve Bould? Steve Bould’s job is to make the sandwiches. If I want his opinion on defending, I’ll ask him for it, but I’ll probably just call Pat Rice instead, to be honest.

Tactics? In the modern game, in the perfect match, tactics are a hindrance to the players’ self-expression. Football is an art form, not a sport. At its best, it is closer to ballet than sport. I find silverware demeaning, if I’m honest. Grubby trophies that others have pawed all over? Ewww! I would much prefer to receive 3 curtain calls, a standing ovation and children running up to me with bouquets, than the FA Cup. Ballet! That’s what we’re aiming for at the Arsenal. Herbert Chapman was a fool.

Also, women should stay in the kitchen. Malkey Mackay made some great points in his texts. Hitler was a good man and I’d loved to have generalled one of his Panzer divisions into Russia.”

Let me tell you what you, me and Alexis Sanchez have in common. All 3 of us are asking ourselves the same question. “What the fuck did I just watch.”

It burns my eyes. In fact, popping my 2 eye-balls into a frying pan while still attached to my retinae by their optic nerves and sauteeing them on high heat would seem preferable to what just happened to them. Or at least temporarily distract them from…The Horror.

Well, this is going to be a quick match report. I don’t want to write this. You don’t want to read this. So, let’s just yank the plaster off the hairy leg here. WTF was that???

There was much assuming going on before this match that it would be a cake walk. When our strongest XI was selected for this match, there was much wailing that we should be rotating and resting. That always seemed assumptive and presumptive, to be tempting, nay, provoking fate.

My personal view was we should play our strongest XI and if things went as well as we hoped, then make the substitutions to rest/rotate. 3-0 was my number. I even scribbled on my notes during the game after our 3rd goal: “3-0. Cool! Subs, please!”

I should have gone higher. 5-0? Had I learned nothing from the Newcastle debacle (which inspired the classic war movie: “Bridge Over The River Tyne?”)

I’m sorry, I can’t do a blow-by-blow match report. I could do you a barf-by-barf report though.

To be fair, even in the 1st half, which ended with us 2 goals up against The Teens Of Anderlecht, the Belgians still had 3 or 4 counter attacks that were squandered in the final phase. A fairer score based on threats in the 1st half would have been 2-1 or 2-2 to Arsenal.

The only change from the Burnley lineup was bringing Ramsey in for Flamini. But I think it was a huge difference. Ramsey was hell-bent on recapturing his best form with feats of derring do. And tricks. And so, unfortunately, he created a number of the turnovers that the Teens Of Anderlecht fed off. What’s more, by not providing Flamini-esque cover alongside Arteta, this further exposed us to counter attacks the like of which we haven’t endured for some time. Ramsey needed to keep it simple and Arsene should have stuck with what was working: Arteta/Flamini. Keep giving Aaron 25 minutes or so till his form returns. Otherwise Arteta is exposed to the counter attack.

Sanchez was involved in all 3 of our goals. He was again brilliant. I hope he has a lot of brilliant games in him this season, because we just squandered another one of them.

Monreal’s penalty? He’s done really well but he was always going to struggle when someone big enough to bully him in the penalty area eventually tangled with him. Defending these days is at least 50% Greco Roman wrestling. It was only a question of which game he got found out in.

Their other 2 goals they worked really well but we gave them too much space to pick their passes and work the ball. Half a yard all over the park is the difference between maintaining control over your adversary or making them look Brazil 1970.

Poldi coming on as a sub was an interesting choice particularly when it was his job to close down the crosser for the 3rd goal. Poldi seemed to mime a stokebroker falling 23 floors to his death. Distracting I’m sure but actually closing down the crosser would have been even more effective.

But from the moment Arteta tweaked his hammy, chaos ensued, havoc was wreaked. And in the battle for midfield from whence all 3 of their attacks were launched, we dithered. Belgian Waffling indeed.

It must be galling for Sanchez, Ox and Welbeck who, listed in descending order of brilliance, were just that. Brilliant.

Arteta was excellent too: tackling, intercepting, forcing turnovers, he was at his anticipatory best this evening. But…those whom the gods love, have their hammies tweaked.

And so we lose Arteta again. That Bermuda triangle of the 2 CBs and the DM is going to continue to cost us all season till Wenger finds his Petit. I love Arteta but he needs help and he needs cover. He’s not getting it from Jack or Ramsey and Flamini isn’t deemed good enough by the boss himself to be a regular starter or a starter in the biggest games.

Our attack verges on greatness. Our defense has great potential, our midfield has an abundance of talent but the connective tissue at the base of midfield looks set to keep costing us dearly when we most need it.

A DM, a DM, my kingdom for a DM.

]]>http://poznaninmypants.com/2014/11/05/3-0-up-you-had-one-job-arsenal/feed/3poznaninmypantsWir Sind Wieder Die Scheiße.http://poznaninmypants.com/2014/10/31/wir-sind-wieder-die-scheise/
http://poznaninmypants.com/2014/10/31/wir-sind-wieder-die-scheise/#commentsFri, 31 Oct 2014 16:06:38 +0000http://poznaninmypants.com/?p=3759Continue reading →]]>Eskimos have 50 different words for snow or, more correctly, eskimos have words for 50 different kinds of snow. I am put in mind of this as I review Arsenal’s season to date.

By near universal accord, we have been shit. On occasions we’ve been utter shit. And on other occasions, we’ve been a bit shit. On the average… we’ve been shit.

But it is not just a matter of size or scale that can describe the shitness of one match as compared to another, say, Anderlecht or Hull or Sunderland or Galatasaray. The variety of shitness is abundant, and plentiful, wonderous in a David Attenborough sort of way. I can hear him now suggesting the word “teaming.” Yes this rich diversity of shitness requires a classification for quality and feel to be conveyed and the subtext to be captured.

Hull was a shit result and a particularly poor 2nd half. But, I would say, we had a really good first half, and a strong last 6 minutes. If it were compared to a poo in the toilet bowl, it would look…well…you can work that out yourself, no pun intended. Anderlecht was a totally constipated performance with a last minute explosion, deeply satisfying. Sunderland was more like straining to go for 90 minutes unsuccessfully while the bloke in the next stall soiled himself twice by accident. Against Galatasaray we were only great because they were apparently shit. So we were shit. (That one confuses me.)

At the Stamford Bridge toilet, after holding it in much better than on previous visits, we kacked our pants twice within mere feet of getting to the loo.

All shit but not all the same, not all equal.

And taking a further step back, we might need a collective noun for a run of bad games: may I proffer the term “streak.”

Look, if we suddenly hit a run of good form then I grant you, this effort at turd denomination becomes redundant. But if, as I postulate here, we face a further run of shit games, perhaps streak then we need the means, the vocabulary to express to each other the scale, the quality, the nature of the shitness. Because currently telling me we played “shit” against XYZ FC doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already guess.

Toward this end I have reached out to one of my Eskimo followers (@NanookOfTheNorthEnd.) And apparently we are in luck. Eskimos have a lot of free time on their hands and a bit of a sense of humour. So when they’re not regaling each other with stories of the day’s snow encounters they are, like the rest of us, often sat on the bog, doing a poo. And the culture that has categorized 50 different types of snow has also come up with 57 different categories of poo. Given we’ll play about 50 matches this season, I’d say we’re covered. Covered in…Atwana! (My eskimo followers will be LOL-ing at that.)

We will inevitably turn things around and start playing consistently good football of course. And even in this “Run Of Shit” that we are on, there is still much to be enjoyed if you look hard enough (you may need to look really, really hard.) In the meantime, all we can do is take it game by game, poo by poo, until Arsenal is once again “The Shit.” Poldi will let you know when it is safe to come out. He will tweet our safe words:

PL: Match Report – Chelsea 2-0 Arsenal – He Who Shall Not Be Named.

Trust me when I tell you, it will have been a lot more painful for me to have written this match report, than it will be for you to read it. And on that basis, you owe it to me to see this blog through till the end. You and me, together.

After the match, I spent a few minutes on twitter. To be honest, I thought the tweeps on my timeline were fairly measured. Sure, there were some over-reactions. But all things considered, they weren’t too over-reactiony, to be fair.

Then I made the mistake of checking back in later that day. Holy shit. The Night Of The Long Knives was on. Brother against brother, Gunner against Gunner. People calling each other stuff. Accusations flying.

Enough pre-amble. Let us rip the plaster off this hairy leg. Let the match report begin…

This was to be a match-up of uncomfortable pairings for Arsenal.
Wenger vs Mourinho tactically.Wenger vs Mourinho mano a mano. Cesc vs Ozil. Matic vs Flamini. Hazard/Costa vs Arsenal’s defense.
Of all of those, perhaps Flamini fared the best. I take that back. Arsene manhandled Mourinho on the sideline. That was most excellent.

The first twenty minutes of the match were cagey enough. Jabbing back and forth, but no really solid punches landed. Cause for optimism, though, for an Arsenal that had conceded multiple goals by the same point in last year’s fixture. The initial period’s most notably moment was when Alexis’s thigh collided with Courtois’s head. As the keeper fell to the ground his arms flopped down limp. To then hear commentators debating whether he might be a little concussed, and to have the Chelsea medical staff delay long enough for the player to regain full consciousness tells you that it is farcical nonsense that anything has changed on this topic. After playing on for another 14 minutes, the player himself had to request to come off, replaced by Cech, a goalkeeper wearing a permanent helmet. It shouldn’t take a continuing concussion for a player to get off the field. This needs to change.

Arsenal were playing 4-1-4-1, Flamini holding, Jack and Santi in front of him. Ozil and Sanchez starting from the wings. It was combined with a high line at the back, Per and Koz pushing up high and compressing the midfield of Fabregas, Oscar and Matic.

It was working in the sense that we were very much holding our own, arguably looking the stronger, except in the final third. But around 20 minutes, things were about to kick off. Cahill lunged in, studs up, with an ankle breaker on Alexis, but came away with only a yellow. With Mourinho and Wenger having a ring-side seat of the dirty foul, it wasn’t long before those 2 were squaring up to each other, and Wenger went physical. I wasn’t alone in shouting out “Eye-gouge the bastard.” As it was , Arsene gave him a pretty good shove, and it was clear there would only be 1 winner. Mourinho backed off and hid behind the referee’s assistant.

But the temperature in the game was rising. On 21’, Chambers got his customary yellow out of the way, after fouling a Hazard who was getting ominously lively. And so, on 26’ when Hazard came slaloming towards our box after swatting Santi aside, Chambers had to hold back on the challenge on the edge of the box, allowing Hazard to bear down on Koscielny, but his wizardry took him past the stretched centerback, and his dragging leg guaranteed the penalty he sought.

In a tight and even contest, this match would come down to a few moments. This moment of brilliant skill gave Hazard his penalty which he tucked away arrogantly. And Koscielny received a yellow for a last man tackle. On another day…

Strangely, we were still very much in the contest. It was a game of a few key moments, and Arsenal was about to have theirs. On 29’, Wilshere bursts through into the box but his touch off his wrong foot is desperately heavy and the space is gobbled up by Cech advancing. In a game of a few moments, this would have made it 1-1. And this game would be decided by a few big players taking those few chances.

This chance came through clever play through the middle. IT would have to, because we provided no width. Chambers had his hands full with alternating offensives from Hazard and Costa. Sanchez wasn’t in position to get in behind. Which left a largely isolated Welbeck…isolated.

Why Chamberlain wasn’t on the pitch, ordered to channel Theo’s ghost, and get in behind Chelsea’s back 4, well, smarter minds than mine will have to explain.

And in Ozil’s defense, apart from playing out of his natural position, once more you can legitimately say he had nothing and no one ahead of him, for most of the match. HE NEEDS RUNNERS. Let me repeat, HE NEEDS RUNNERS.

Let’s fast forward through the various incidents. It was give and take before and after halftime. On 54’ Szczesny has his Cruyff-turn moment of the game which as always he survives, and all is forgiven on 57’ when another moment of Hazard wizardry results in a low cross into our box which comes off Flamini’s shin and straight inside the near post with no time for Szczesny to react, and yet, he did. Amazingly he adjusted his hand to deflect it out. Or more correctly, his wrist.

And so it went with each team having a 5 or 10 minute spell where they had the upper hand but no end product. But Arsenal lacked a difference-maker on the day. Wilshere had 3 or 4 poor moments in the first half. His second half was better. Ozil was anonymous (I look forward to his highlight reel as always.) Sanchez was frustrated and frustrating.

As for Chelsea, their difference-makers: Hazard is the player Arsene said he most regretted missing out on in recent years; Fabregas is a player we turned down because we didn’t need him; and Costa is a loathesome shit who is good at football.

Perhaps a late surge after some clever substitutions would sway the result back towards the Gunners? On 69’, Ox finally gets on the field in place of a disgruntled Santi. Ox would do well in his 25 minutes, but it would not move the needle for us. The more fateful substitution would be made by the Forces Of Evil. And it would be an intervention by Mikel on 77’ that would turn over the ball to Fabregas, and that which we had feared since the summer transfer window transpired before our eyes. Cesc, having already raised his periscope before receiving the ball, banged a 40 yarder over the top, where Costa burst through our high line, and masterfully chested the ball ahead to run onto it and chip our keeper. Szczesny got caught betwixt and between. Neither sweeper nor keeper.

Understandably, they could not bring themselves to mention He Who Shall Not Be Named. He Whom We Didn’t Need.
It would appear that Darth Vadar skillfully brought on Obi Mikel whereas our Princess Leia’s substitutions appeared to make little sense.

With Harrison Ford currently out with a hamstring injury and Chubakka sold to Barcelona and now playing for West Ham, leaving only Luke Skywalker with his dodgy ankles running around our midfield, it would appear that the Force is not strong with us.

We would have some minor consolations: Jack calling Terry a ******* *****; Flamini elbowing Costa in the face; a nice two-footer by Welbeck on Fabregas.

To be fair to Arsenal, it was a far improved performance, and the difference between the teams at Stamford Bridge was just a few moments, all of them for Chelsea. Had we not squandered so many points coming into this match, we could simply vow revenge at the Emirates. But that may be too little, too late.

To be fair to Chelsea, the match went exactly as they had architected it. They have our number. Mourinho has stated in the past, he’s happy for a team like us to have the ball and look good, since the team in possession is the one most likely to make a mistake. And both their goals came on the counter from turnovers (by Alexis.)
Taking a step back, we’ve got Chelsea Away out of the way, as well as games against Everton, City and Spurs. We will get another crack at Chelsea in April. Maybe, we will be better then.

The season is yet young and as is our Sisyphan trial, we must return to roll the rock up the table, only for it to roll back down to 4th.
Still, as Prometheus used to say as he looked over at Sisyphus, “You lucky bastard! At least you aren’t chained to a rock each day while an eagle pecks out your liver only to have it grow back every night.” (That would be Spurs.)

Galatasaray brought the flares, but Arsenal brought the flair. Our fireworks dwarfed theirs. It’s like that scene played out all over America on the 4th of July. Your dad tells you to invite your friends over for his fireworks display, only for you to be humiliated by your show-off neighbor who bought the professional grade shit which he then uses to create a full scale reproduction of Pearl Harbor including the hiring of professional actors and a fly over by 3 of his college buddies from the National Guard.

The good news is…Arsenal were the show-off neighbour. Welbeck, Alexis, Ox and Cazorla were the rockets, and Ozil was the professionally hired pyrotechnician, forgotten as the skies lit up. Fireworks are not brilliant because of the fireworks. They are brilliant because of the setup, the timers, the synchronization, the dance…and the fireworks.

Arsenal went into this tie with a win essential for their season. A loss might have conjured a way to damage all 3 remaining competitions. Stella hasn’t found her Groove yet, apart from in the first half against Aston Villa, and with Stamford Bridge looming, a strong, confident, clinical performance was critical for this injury ravaged squad. We needed a statement win with minimal drama and absolutely no injuries. We got almost all of that.

The good news for Arsene was he had absolutely no selection headaches. He had 11 men left standing to pick from, in all reality. All he needed to do was to arrange their positions. Even the formation was pretty much decided for him given the available players: 4-2-3-1. When the team sheet was released all the debate among supporters and journos was whether Santi or the Ox would play on the wing and conversely who would then play alongside Flamini.

On the day, Arsene surprised many by playing Cazorla as a CM. Ozil would play in the middle as the #10, with Ox and Alexis on the wings.

Right from the off it worked a treat, aided it must be said by Prandelli setting up Gala with 3 at the back. Fair play, they came to play! But it allowed so much space for Welbeck, Ox, Sanchez and Ozil to plunder with their pace and movement, connected by Cazorla’s deadly distribution. If you give that Arsenal XI an extra half a yard (and we seemed to have it all over the pitch on Wednesday night) they will have your liver with fava beans and a glass of Chianti. Fuffuffuffuffu.

In the early exchanges, all of our front 3 looked dangerous, and the interplay was superb, up until the final third, where the decision-making, the synchronicity, let us down. We dominated the first 20 minutes.

When the first goal came, it was simplicity itself. Gibbs poked it up the left wing to Sanchez who was executing a Wide Receivers route drifting from inside to outside on the left wing where he picked up the ball and arced infield again. Spotting Welbeck’s angled run going left, Sanchez released a perfectly weighted ball to where Welbeck was pointing and the England striker dispatched his shot through the legs of the keeper. The Gala 3 man defense was twisted into a pretzel.

9 minutes later, Flamini won a header in midfield off a poor goal kick from Gala. The hopeful header was knocked back by a Gala midfielder towards his Centerback, Melo. But Welbeck out muscled the defender, and sprinted away before “routinely” slotting away his second. The hat trick was clearly on.

The Gala “fans” then let off their flares. It’s probably hilarious the first few times you do that. But they do it every match. Grow up, you pratts. There’s an actual football game on to watch. Oh, and by the way, you’re getting stuffed in it.

On the stroke of 40 minutes, Ox (unmarked) in midfield, passed to Ozil, (unmarked) in midfield, who crafted a deft pass forward to Sanchez on the left who was largely unmarked. Sanchez cut inside to fire across the goal to make it 3-0. He didn’t need Welbeck and Ox who were also unmarked in the box. Gala were in disarray at this point.

And they were starting to show their frustration with rotational fouling on Sanchez, including a nailed-on red-carder of a 2 footed tackle that escaped full punishment. Flamini The Avenger decided to even the score by putting in a 1.5 footed tackle on Sneijder just before half time. Many criticized him for rashness, but he sent a clear message: “We know where your delicate playmaker lives.”

Prandelli had not only gone with a back 3 but had elected to play Sneijder as a deep-lying playmaker. It wasn’t adding up.

When they came out for the 2nd half, Gala setup with a back 4 and with Sneijder playing from an advanced position where he could be his own danger man. But not before Welbeck got his hat trick on 51 minutes from a dinked finish off a through ball from his England colleague for years to come, Chamberlain.

We were rampant.

In truth, we had many great attacking moments involving our front 5 throughout the game. More goals seemed inevitable. It was at this point you thought: “4-0. Good enough. Let’s just see this out. No injuries, no drama.”

But Arsenal and a Champions League red card go together like unprotected sex and the clap. On 60 minutes, Szczesny came charging out to cut off the on-rushing Burak, and got himself sent off. It’s an unjust rule but Szczesny should know it well by now. And it was needless at 4-0 up.

Poor old Ospina. He gets his chance only to realize his first act is to face a penalty, stone cold. Burak sent him the wrong way and made it 4-1. With Arsenal down to 10 men, it was game on again.
And Sanchez didn’t look happy when pulled off to bring Ospina on. After the match, Wenger uncharacteristically blamed the conceded goal on Sanchez losing possession in our half. Perhaps Arsene is relying on the fact that he has no English yet.

On 67 minutes, Rosicky came on for Ox, and played a nice cameo to help wipe away his nightmare performance against the Spuds at the weekend.

On 77 minutes, Jack came on for Ozil who had looked tired for much of the evening and yet still filled his usual highlight reel. Journalists will say he looked tired, disinterested and had a poor game. The match commentator worried when Arsenal fans would take to Ozil. Bless them. They don’t get it.

Jack did well but more importantly showed he was fully fit.
Ospina had plenty to do in his 20+ minutes, pulling off a couple of fine saves with Sneijder in particular getting closer and closer to finding his range. But Arsenal still had its chances on the counter with the most memorable being a last minute counter with Welbeck receiving the ball wide right on the halfway line, finding Wilshere in the center, who lobs it over the defense to an onrushing Santi, sprinting into the box. His chipped finish is cleared just before it crosses the line by a sliding Semih. And then the final whistle.

The match ball and the night would be Danny Welbeck’s.
At 23 years of age, going on 24, Danny Welbeck is right where you want him to be as a Gooner, in his career and in his club.

When Welbeck was signed on deadline day, reactions ranged from “meh,” to “we could have got Balotelli for that money.” Gooners asked each “should I be happy about this signing?” No one seemed sure. Even Arsene couldn’t be arsed to tell us what we should think for the week after the signing.

Correctly valued, I believe the signing should have been met with scenes of jubilation, grown men falling to their knees and crying in the street, three men from the East should have shown up on camels bearing gold, frankincense and mihr, mirrr, muhuhurrr, oh damn it, moisturizer, and a two-headed lion cub should have been born on that very same night.

Fascinatingly, Arsene said this in the presser after the match in answer to a question about what had surprised him about Welbeck so far:
“That he’s a good finisher…That was a surprise that he’s technically clean and that he’s a good passer of the ball. I didn’t know he was so quick. Honestly, I knew he was quick but he can be electric when he starts – he has great pace.”

So…Arsene didn’t know he was that technical, that good a passer, that fast or that good a finisher. That doesn’t leave much for a striker. I think we got lucky with this signing but I’ll take it.

Arsene also waxed lyrical about his teamwork and on a night where he could have decided he had done more than his share up front, he was to be found defending every inch of the pitch till the last minute. This boy is a little bit special.

Football is a tough, unforgiving, and may I add, unfair sport. Olivier really shouldn’t have broken his foot on that ball. Just like with a goalie, you never want to give up the #1 spot because you may never get it back. And for Sanogo, he may rue his misses against Leicester for a long old time.

Cos Dan’s now the Man. Danny’s the Manny. Daniel’s the Maniel. Yes, in the blink of an eye, all is changed, changed utterly. The old switcheroo. Just like that.

I have tried to not rate Danny Welbeck for a number of seasons but every time I try, I:

End up rating him

See ways in which he could be far better utilized

Like him a bit more as a guy

I love Giroud but I think he’s very limited. We all know what he does well. And he’s self-sacrificing. He’s all about the team. As many or most of us have said along the way, “it’s not his fault.” He would make a perfect #2, backup option, alternative, Plan B. And he will do in the future.

It’s tough. But…you snooze, you lose.

I actually really like Sanogo. But, man is he raw. He should be our #3 or #4. He needs a couple of years. And some competition. Well, that’s just been addressed in my opinion.

It’s tough. But…you snooze, you lose.

And what of Alexis as Center Forward. I have to believe that’s an experiment Arsene is dying to try out but it’s not ready for prime time. And it may no longer be a priority for us.

But what of Danny Welbeck? Three things must you know of Danny Welbeck. First, the fucker is faaast. Second, he has decent touch, good skills, good linkup play. Third, he’s physical, he’s up for it, he’s tall, he throws himself about, he will run his legs off, he will smother their DM, press, press, press. Fourth, he’s hungry, he’s got a great attitude, and he too is all about the team. Fifth, Ferguson rated him very highly. Sixth, Meulensteen rated him very highly, and can’t believe United let him go, but thinks he’ll do very well for us. Seventh, Smudger Smith rates him highly and thinks he’s just what we need.

When was the last time we had a superfast striker, with good skills, big physique, who wasn’t a complete dick, and at just the right age to light it up…23 years old. 24 in November.

It’s not hard to see what Arsene sees in this move. It ticks sooo many boxes and solves so many problems. And the player fits. He just fits.

Why Did United Sell Him?

So if Welbeck is so great, how come United sold him? Well, United have an Alpha Male problem – Rooney/RvP. Big egos, big money, but it’s not working. So, bring in a 3rd Alpha Male – Falcao with a bigger ego, bigger money. van Gaal could give a crap that Welbeck has been in United’s Academy since he was eight ie 2001!! I strongly believe SAF brought in RvP to push Rooney out and leave United with RvP and a maturing Welbeck. But Moyes bottled it, and ended up strengthening Rooney’s hand. United’s troubles are Arsenal’s opportunity.

I think United have really fucked up here.

But We Needed A DM

Was a striker the signing we needed? I can respect those who wanted to see a CB and a DM coming in. I saw many saying that that was where we need reinforcements, rather than up front. But let’s be honest: That’s a little boring, isn’t it. Where’s the glamour in that? Where’s the pizzazz? Any club can strengthen their defensive options. Zzzzzz.

Yes, we could have done all three. I know. We could have balanced our squad. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. Sorry, I nodded off again. You were saying? Oh yes, balance. Zzzzzzzz.

Listen, you might be the type to ask Mary for her phone number at the disco cos she seems like a nice girl. But I’m letting crazy Katie take me back to her place now that I’ve heard she’s misplaced her anti-psychotic meds. That’s how I role.

Who do you think Ozil and Alexis were googling yesterday evening. The DM and CB names floated for us? Nah. The were youtubing the Welbz. And loving it.

Imagine of we can look back in a couple of years and laugh at the RvP transfer because in the end, we got a class striker at the perfect age for 5+ seasons. And they got 1 season from RvP.

And 16m, interestingly the same as Liverpool paid for Balotelli. I think we have every chance of looking back in 3 years and saying we got by far the better return, without all the bullshit.

But his stats, you say. Welbeck’s stats! His stats don’t necessarily show what you think they show. Yes, his completion rate isn’t very exciting…when he’s played out of position. But when played as a CF, his stats compare to Sturridge. And Welbeck is 23, and was continually messed around and played out of position, for which Sir Alex apologized to him.

Put him under Arsene’s wing, surround him with Ozil, Alexis, Santi, Ramsey and Jack. Oh, and Theo. And then light the fuse.